But you will, you will. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. ‘I can’t think how I’ve tolerated myself all these years.
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